ReacTionS
by Nana Potato
Summary: ...SoMine... If she was a Godsend, I was a believer.


**Random:** Hoo-yeah, mah 1st **SoMine**! (technically). Before you read it, I'm aware that there's a RoxIne out there where Roxas is in the same "situation" of Sora,in this fic, but I haven't read that story so if you're going to A) Flame B) Bitch or C) Just Bother Me, im gonna A) Not care, and use to if make my airballon fly B) Still not care, and be the Bigger Bitch back or C) Send a dog to bite you or something... For your own sake, do not tempt be to do either.

_ANYWAYZ!_ Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** Don't get my hopes up.

* * *

She was always there. Like she considered it an obligation or something. Maybe she did. I never know. 

At first, I just said 'thank-you', and when she smiled, I smiled back. It's what you do, you have to be polite no matter how bad you're life is reduced to. I continued on with my day, playing my guitar like I always did, and got lunch (occasionaly) from the diner across the street. The next day, she popped up again, placing a crisp ten in the case. Again, I thanked her, and we exchanged smiles.

She had a perfect smile. Perfect rows of bright whites, and it made you feel important. Like you were the only person she smiled at like that. But I had to smile closed-mouthed. Dental didn't come with my type of job.

Sometimes she would stick around, bobbing her head to the melody or sitting on a nearby bench while engaging herself in a good book. She always sat where I could easily see her, and her to me.

I was more inspired when she stayed after. The day was a bit more interesting when she lagged behind to honor the Lactic Park with her presence. Although, there was an odd day when after she donated, a random guy from the crowd asked why she showed up like a faithful believer. While strumming the cords, I was eavesdropping.

"He's talented, I enjoy his songs, don't you?" In a way, she had just conned the man to donate too. He squared his shoulders like it was Mission Impossible, and dropped in a good amount. She winked before going off to where she spends the rest of her day.

Within a few weeks, I had become obsessed with her appearance. I wouldn't play any special songs until she came. I wouldn't smile, period, unless I could actually feel her company. I counted her deposit first, and I sometimes put it in the pocket near my withered heart.

I swear, back then I just thought I was in her debt.

When the weeks turned to a month—October, maybe November, I lost my calendar a while back—she came as usual, but with two cups of steaming coffee in hand. She juggled her way to my spot, her purse dangling on her elbow. I saw her little struggle and was instantly at her side; she was righted and handed me a cup.

"You seem like a sugary person, I brought some extra packets in case." And then her smile hit me with a thousand volts. While I swam around in ecstasy, I didn't get it. I wasn't someone who mattered. I was _homeless_ for crying out loud! I played a guitar for my daily income! Did she pity me? Did she think it was her job to care of the Lactic Park guitar-playing hobo?

I just couldn't understand.

We sipped our coffee in silence; well she sipped, and I eagerly chugged down the medium-sized drink. She noticed my hurry; I had a sheepish smile. I didn't have to be civil really. I could blame the lack of it on my current life-crisis I was still going through. She gave a giggle that sounded like wind chimes, or gentle fingers on a piano.

A new sound I became attuned to.

"My name is Naminé Bella Nepar, by the way." She said and actually shook the hand of a homeless. She didn't even wipe them off. Wasn't she afraid of my filth? I would be.

"Uh, Sora Couret, nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she responded before requesting a song. I did with hastiness.

Winter was coming I could see that. Naminé had yet to break the routine, and I had yet to smile when she wasn't around.

"I like your smile, Sora." I furrowed my brows. How could she? I hadn't seen a toothbrush in God knows how long.

"Do you know what Sora means in Japanese?" She asked while a few more people dropped money in the case. I shook my head with a waiting still close-mouthed smile.

"What does it mean, Naminé?"

"_Sky_." Naminé said with extra care, like it was a child. My music randomly stopped because of her tone. She wasn't looking at me anymore, but the _sky_.

My throat constricted, and I hoped that my sweaty palms wouldn't ruin the melody. But she had me so confused, so curious. I wished, as the piece of music coursed through the ears of many, that I could find out what it was like in her mind.

It was an uncomfortable day when she brought friends. A purple-eyed redhead with the curviest body I'd seen since the billboard with Pamela Anderson. Another was a seemingly gentle, tall brunette with pigtails, and deep jade eyes.

Naminé's eyes were a mesmeric slate gray. (I was willing to bet all of my money—most of which presently came from Naminé—that people thought they were blue.) Her hair was fair, rather long but she always drew over her shoulder like a golden curtain.

Jeezus, half of my songs weren't _that_ poetic.

"Girls, the famous Sora Couret, this is Olette Clairesson," she pointed to the brunette, who waved and I nodded curtly. "And this is...Kairi." Naminé lifted the arm of the redhead, who smiled emotionless. This had bad-idea written all over it.

"Just Kairi?" I asked with some sarcasm.

"Yes…" Quickly responded 'Just Kairi'. I grunted shortly before nodding. My song's tone was suddenly twitchy, too hasty, and annoyed. Naminé shouldn't have brought her friends. They didn't understand the poor, second-hand way of life I lived by; they didn't want to. I didn't blame them.

Naminé's blonde eyebrows drew together like knitting needles. Her slightly glossy lips were pursed as she stared down at me. It was the first time I had seen an upset look on her pretty face.

It _inflamed_ me, and you can take that anyway you want to.

I supposed my eyes were questioning when I stared back at her—Olette, and Kairi standing around nervously and purposely ignoring our gazing fest.

"Your song sounds angry." I hid my astonishment. I was the only person who could truly read my music. It was _my_ music. I made it my own.

"Maybe I'm just playing differently today." I shrugged.

"Maybe the song means something?" Irritation, and annoyance flared instantly. _Who was she? _Just another rich girl taking pity on the poor guy. Well she could take her pity, and her money, and_ stop trying_.

"Maybe you're just reading too much into it." I retorted hotly. The venom in my voice surprised her. Go ahead. Leave. _GO!_ You're making things worse for both of us, I thought and hoped Naminé wouldn't bother me any longer.

I hoped God wouldn't grant me the wish like he always did.

And she returned, cheery as ever, as if yesterday didn't happen. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or to tell her another lame joke. (She always laughed.) But it didn't matter because the rain had scarred off everyone, and I was left to curse the oh-so-fair-and-omnipotent God.

"C'mon, we can keep warm at Cid's." Naminé tugged on the sleeve of my trench coat once I had packed my things. I gave her a crazed look. She raised her eyebrows in question.

"I don't think I'd be allowed. I'm trying to save up and—"

"It's my treat, silly!" Her giggle was back, full force. Again, I had a strange sensation within me.

"You can't! You're always—"

"Sora," she squared her shoulders, and looked tough. I chuckled, and her macho-girl act collapsed completely in a fit of her laughter. She was so darn cute. In an out-of-character moment, I thought the rain wasn't so bad.

We entered the busy restaurant—it was decorated in a nifty retro look, like Johnny Rockets. The colors were green with a yellow, and the booth tables were a reflecting red. I took sneaky glances at myself, and saw just how much I let myself go. My hair was such a tangled, comb breaking mess that I was afraid to rake my hands through it. And no one told me that you couldn't see my face through the thick layers of dirt.

How could Naminé stand this? I was a monstrosity, a foul scent in the air, a man reduced to his lowest level and them some. I couldn't help but ask her why she stuck around.

"It's just…I'm…I'm not your average Joe who gets a good salary with a toasty fireplace and a sports car. I mean I don't even have a home. Despite that, I can make it, little by little, and…—I can't wrap my mind around your kindness. I know pity can go so far…" She choked on her fries, took a sip of her Diet Pepsi ('I just like the taste,' she said).

"Sora! I don't pity you!"

"Then why?" I had to know. It was a burning question that my subconscious liked to torture me with.

"Because!" She exclaimed. Her eyes darted to Lactic Park, then her stare was softened, her pink lips were little apart. Was she getting ready to end it? Wait, what was it? A friendship? An obligation? That was another thing….

"Because, I can't help it, okay? Can we leave it at that?" Naminé _didn't_ look at me with half-lidded eyes. Her mouth barely moved. I nodded and slowly ate my dinner, as she didn't.

"Here, for later." She handed me a hot doggy bag, the still pouring rain clouded the aroma.

"Naminé…"

"Just take it!" She sounded aggravated. My mouth opened to apologize, but nothing came out.

"Bye, Sora." Naminé turned on her heel, away from me.

She didn't appear the next day. Nor the next, or even the one after that; she wasn't around for a while. It added confusion to my aching mind. Why was she doing this? Did I annoy her? Was she all out of pity? Was our time up?

My mood was horrible, 24/7. The songs were passionless, money-less, and Naminé-less. I was Naminé-less. She just stepped out of my life and closed the door. End of story. Period.

But, _why_, damnit? What changed? _You pushed her away, _said a negative voice in my head. (It was a normal symptom of the homeless: loss of sanity.) What? All I did was ask why she was so kind. _Maybe that sounded a little ungrateful? _But…_No more buts! Why don't you go apologize? _I don't know where she lives. _There's such thing as a phonebook._ Well I can't just show up at her door, not like this.

My debater had my eyes travel to the case of my guitar. The wad of cash was abruptly burning in my coat pocket.

No. _Yes. _No!_ Yes!_ NO!_ YES! GO APOLOGIZE, YOU ASS!_

And with an unexpected decision, I gathered up my belonging—my case with my guitar inside—counted my amounts, and walked into a nearby clothing store. Salespeople gave me funny looks as they held their noses. Oh, right, have to bathe too…. The best I could do were some odd black jeans, been-in-this-store-forever boots, and a button-down sky blue shirt.

_Sky_. I probably sounded like a gigantic jerk in her ears. I never thanked her enough.

I'm going to skip the bathing procedure, because I prefer not to further lower myself.

Once I had been cleansed, smelling of soap, and day-old fries (I tend to eat when nervous). I looked in the mirror in the unmentionable place, and actually saw my face again. My visage was rather blotchy from the raw scrubbing, and locks of hair littered the floor and sink. But I looked well, dashing. I could see the high alignment of my cheekbones, the nice shape of my nose, and mouth. Best of all, I could see life in my blue eyes again.

What a _blue_ they were.

I owed Naminé everything I had for giving me back hope. She once spoke of a job opportunity but at the time I was too immersed in replaying my haunted past life. I should've listened to everything she said. Naminé was the best thing, the highlight of my new life, and everything that happened to me.

I excitedly made my way to the closet bus station heading Naminé's way. (48337 Hope Lane Apt. no. 2) I could barely contain my self with all the anticipation coursing through me. I was forming sentences, long apologies, and sweet thank-you's by them time the bus had rounded the corner a block from her street. Two women hopped aboard, and threw silly, flirtatious, glances my way. I was never going homeless again.

Yet those weren't the looks I wanted. I wanted big, sweet, hypnotizing gray eyes to stare at my _sky_-blue orbs. I wanted wind chime giggles, and wide smiles.

I wanted Naminé, all off her. The good, the bad, the ugly, the whatever. If it's Naminé Bella Nepar, than by God, I was going to have it. She was now everything that mattered. She was my world. She was more important than my music. Than life itself.

I tugged down on the yellow cord harshly, a ring sang through the bus before it halted and I bounded through the door like a crazed man.

I was crazy for Naminé.

I tried very hard not to run for fear of smelling of sweat, but then a quaint brownstone stretched before me and I raced to it, to her. It was strange to feel the doorknob, to feel that I was about to step into a home. I was hit with nostalgia upon entering the apartment. My eyes flew to each door, downstairs, upstairs—there! Two! I took three stairs a time, and I was at her door, facing it like execution day.

_You can do this! _Right. Sure. _Hey, Mr. Pessimist! Remember when you looked on the brighter side of things? Why don't you try that again, hm? _Optimism was a trait I had when I was naïve, stupid. But I wasn't anymore, this was reality, and **this** was for Naminé. A rush of adrenaline ran through my veins, my limbs, and brain. I could face her; after all, it was just apologizing.

Which was fifty percent true, I later realized.

I knocked twice with the back of my hand. Before the door crept open, I slipped a TicTac in my mouth.

There was my bright-eyed beauty: clad in fuzzy Moogle slippers, Valentine's pajama bottoms, a baggy dark gray 'Radiant Garden College' sweatshirt, and her blonde hair pulled a way from her face with a pink headband restraining her bangs. My heart not at all ceased its rapid beating. Her mouth agape, a pink tongue gone brown from the "Phish Food" ice cream.

"S-sora…?"

"No, it's Ben&Jerry."I said. Humor used to get me through the 'icebreaker's' of tough conversations. I prayed it did now.

"Sora! You look so…" She trailed off, and I wore a confident smile. I guess I never lost my good looks.

"Different?" I hinted. She nodded, bottom jaw still sagging.

"Can I come in then?" A zombie-like Naminé was one very interesting to look at. Her home was cozy, it suited her. The walls were a inviting red, a neutral colored fuzzy carpet, with artsy furniture placed here and there. Whaddayaknow, she had a fireplace.

My shoes were kicked off, and I stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. There was a hallway to the left, I supposed her room and bathroom were there. The kitchen was connected to the dinning room, a wall connected the two with of portion of it's middle missing so the audience could see the cook.

"How did you find me?" Naminé asked quietly. Her arms were wrapped around her ribs like she was cold. The ice cream was left on a square of a counter embedded into the wall near the door.

"Phonebook, believe or not." I smiled, and she showed a hint of one. Then she frowned, peering up at me with a strange look.

"Why?" She asked, hugging herself tighter.

"Because," I smiled, She didn't. "I had to find you. You left like a bat outta hell, and I couldn't help but think why. I thought it was you, being a woman, at first. But I guess…—well, I think I hurt your feelings." I frowned and sighed. "I sounded ungrateful to you, I know, but I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done."

"I didn't do that much…" She mumbled. Her slippers kicked at the carpet.

"But you did. Naminé, you gave me hope." I stepped closer to her, and she looked up again. She was easily surprised, I noted.

"It was the little things you did. Coffee, striking up a conversation, actually having the galls to introduce me to your—obviously unimpressed—friends…if I were in your shoes I wouldn't have given myself a one glance. Yet you did, and so much more." Our space was smaller now, all I had to was reach out a little, and I could stroke her red cheeks, feel the soft baby's bottom skin under my fingers.

"Naminé, thank you. Thank you so much." She was crying then, her face blotchy, and red, like the rimming of her gray eyes. I gave her soft smile, and she shook her head.

"I'm so sorry, Sora!" She threw herself into my chest, clutching the sleeves of my shirt. I could feel her tears seeping unto my skin, but I consolingly rubbed her back and bit back laughter.

"Why are you crying? You didn't do anything wrong. If anything, you helped me _by_ leaving."

"That not what I mean!" She said to my chest.

"Then what do you mean?" Naminé sniffed a few times, took some raggedly deep breaths, and slid her arms under mine around my waist.

"I was afraid, Sora. I—..."

"Of what?"

I waited a long pause, and she still didn't answer. I couldn't help but look at the top of her head oddly. It was like trying to keep that one person who was on the edge of falling into a coma awake. But I was afraid that I had lost her so soon, afraid she was going to tell me to leave for causing her trouble. She had folded into herself. Falling into the layers of Naminé Bella Nepar I had yet to discover myself.

I still wanted to discover them.

"…Of you." Before I could respond she continued. "I was so scared of what was happening, Sora. I knew something was forming, but I didn't know what. I just wanted to spend time with you. But when Olette, and Kairi came, you were so annoyed. I thought…I don't know what I thought, but I maybe you were mad at me—"

"Naminé, I—" I tried to lie.

"I'm not done." I silenced; she breathed again. "So I tried to forget it, but when I left I saw you angry face looking at me. I talked to my friends after that, and they kept telling me things about you, like they knew you. 'You shouldn't feed a cat,' Kairi said 'they always come back'. But I fought her over it, and found that I was that cat. I came back the next day, normal. Olette warned me that something was different with me, that afternoon. She said I wouldn't stop talking about you—" Naminé stopped to realize she said that aloud. "Anyway, it haunted me. I was changing. You were changing me. It was like everything was put into a new perspective. I just didn't want to believe that, when we went to Cid's. I was confused that day, and I couldn't seem to make sense of who was anymore…but I found something out when I left."

Naminé lifted her head to stare at my pupils. I grinned down at her, it seemed we both learned something. I rubbed away her tears, and their marks. Our little epiphanies had been made, yet my heart still ached.

She didn't say she loved me. I tried, though very subtly. But I wasn't going to say it if it wasn't mutual. So I held my tongue as we detached ourselves. Naminé sniffed until I brought tissues from the coffee table near her couch.

"Thanks." She dabbed here and there, not looking at me once. It was my cue to leave.

"Well, so long as you know now—I've got some things to do." I lied. I, generally, was feeling low suddenly. I had enough drama to write a story, and it was time to end it.

"So…you have a place to stay?—I mean—"

"Yeah," I fibbed again.

"Oh…oh okay, g'night then." She didn't offer to stay in touch or anything, she just stood funny, tearing her tissue into strange shapes.

"Good night, Naminé." I walked out the door, and closed it behind me.

God, it hurt so much. I jammed my hands into my pocket, looking dejected, and _rejected_. Damn, I must've beat around the bush too much. I should have plain out said it and then maybe—

"Sora!" I turned, thinking I dropped something, being that I was sometimes a klutz whenever something got rather serious. I don't know what my facial expression was, one foot on the beginning step of the staircase, but she scurried herself over to me, and pulled my face to hers like she was trying to prove something.

Personally, I hate reading about those scenes where the author takes _forever_ to describe a simple kiss. (Hey, guys do read romantic novels, thank you.) It was just like, okay, you kiss, tongue or no tongue, whatever. Where's the creepy guy who starts screaming that the woman is his?

But, holy cow, I took back that whole view of it. It was more than just the physical feeling that could inspire an authoress (I'm partial to female authors, so what?). It was the actually electricity you got, like your first kiss. It's always different to kiss someone new, thrilling if you're that type of person, but Naminé could top all those girls, even in her jammies. She was soft, hesitant, as if she wasn't sure if she should do what she doing.

I, on the other hand, was very eager to "encourage" her.

Then Naminé backed up, her curled fingers slowly slipping from my visage. I gripped one hand, and pulled her back to kiss her forehead.

"Was that a good-bye kiss?" I asked. She giggled. Light bells were going off in my head, I tell you.

"No, that was a do-you-want-to-stay-over? kiss, actually." Ah, so Naminé had some jokes of her own.

"I'd love to." I nuzzled her neck, and if I were to describe her enticing scent, you'd be very annoyed with me, but also with yourself because you don't own it.

Eventually, I got back on my feet. I had a nice little thing going: taking the job of singing, and playing for a café called Seventh Heaven owned by one of Naminé's friends, Tifa Lockhart. I did little advertising for my gigs, helped my new girlfriend (we don't want to move fast paced, you know?) with her college-job, and other things that might or might not help make the worlds better places. Naminé liked to believe if one person made a difference, it would start a chain reaction.

"It's a hope only from Godsends," Tifa whispered to me when Naminé was onstage firing up a crowd for me. I didn't know how to respond to it, so I nodded, staring at the person who mad such an impact in my life. If she was a Godsend, I was a believer.

* * *

**Random:** -sighs happily-Yeah, Im pretty proud of this one. I liked how I portrayed him, made him different, and by the way, I don't really care if you take forever to talk about a kiss, that's just Sora's character being _Sora_. If you see any grammatical errors, don't go all OH I GOTS A RED PEN, LET'S EDIT ALL THIS CRAP!MUWHAHAHA!, it will annoy me nowadays. Just say where, and I'll appreciate it! 

If you liked this, I suggest "Been Here", which is a NamiKu, if you have many tastes. R&R-ing would be nice D!

"Stay _fresh_, peeps!"As my dad once said.

TTFN!--randomness: ceasing the beats today--


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